A Different Sort of Cage
by bey-deckard
Summary: Hannibal Pirate AU Stuck living in a squalid harbour town, Will wishes he could be free. One day a mysterious ship comes into port, changing his life forever.
1. Chapter 1: Portsmouth

**These are the first three chapters of the new fic I'm working on. Unfortunately the rest falls outside of FF's guidelines (NC-17 for graphic sexual content) - however, if you want to continue reading, the current work in progress (so far over 65000 words to reach a conclusion at about 100k) is posted at AO3 under my user: eatthebunny. You can follow the link in my user profile here.**

OOO

_The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea._  
—Isak Dinesen

Will stood in the shadow of the short wall, hands on hips, looking down over the steeply piled rocks of the harbour to the grey-green waters beyond. There weren't many boats out there today, just a few navy frigates near the mouth, some fishing vessels, and what looked like a small corvette just entering the harbour. He frowned; squinting and shading his blue eyes with a pale hand, Will saw that the ship wasn't flying a flag. _That's weird._ The wind blew at his dark brown hair, making the curls dance around his head as he rubbed his eyes to take a better look. He narrowed his gaze against the bright late-afternoon sun; the black and red corvette was a gorgeous, sleek, three-masted ship. Will could see the crew, like scurrying ants, running across the deck preparing to anchor down. The man on the hill wished again that he had brought one of the long-sights with him today. He enjoyed watching the boats come in even though the thought of being on one horrified him. _So many people in such a confined space…_ The crew of this ship looked to be no more than thirty men, but that was still more than Will would be able to handle. As his eyes scanned the approaching vessel, he spotted a lone man standing on the quarter deck. The tall figure had his arms crossed over his chest; the tails of his long black coat flapped in the wind behind him as he stood stock still, supervising the flurry of activity on the deck below. _The captain._ As Will watched, the man slowly raised his head and looked up at the hill high above the harbour. Though Will couldn't clearly see the captain's face, he suddenly had the uncomfortable feeling that the man was looking directly at him. Will's skin prickled with the uneasy thought, and he rubbed his hands over his arms. He stood with his back to the ancient, crumbling stone wall—dubbed the "first wall" for its dubious role as the first line of defence—and should have been hidden from sight at that distance; there was no way that the man on the ship below could see him. _It isn't possible. You're just imagining things again._ Will ran a shaky hand through his hair and thought it best to get out of the sun; his head was already starting to pound, and he was beginning to get strange ideas. With a last look over his shoulder at the corvette and the tall, dark man, Will made his way back up the hill towards the crumbling castle he called home.

The door of the stable banged shut behind him. Will leaned against one of the stalls with a hand on his head, his eyes closed. The headaches were getting worse, he thought desperately; the debilitating pain was becoming an almost daily thing. Will coughed into his hand, a sudden shiver taking him. Taking a few deep breaths and clenching his jaw, he forced himself to stand straight. Will had to get back to his room before the brunt of the agony hit him or else his stepfather would find him collapsed in the hallway again; it was not an experience he wanted to repeat.

Just as he was taking an unsteady step, something came hurtling out of the darkness. With a great bound, the brown and black shape flew through the air and crashed into Will, knocking him flat on his back to the dirty straw-strewn floor. He yelled out in surprise and pain; fending off sharp teeth, he struggled against the creature that was attacking him. A large pink tongue left a wet trail along the side of his face, and he smiled slightly despite the pain in his head.  
"All right, all right, Winston. You got me. Now… enough. Stop it! Arggghh!" He grimaced and shoved at the chest of the giant mastiff, trying to dislodge him. The dog stopped trying to drown Will in saliva and sat back on its haunches, an almost human concern on its face, and let out a low whine.

Will groaned and rubbed his temple with a trembling hand; the dog's enthusiastic greeting had torn new holes in the decaying fabric of his composure. These surprise attacks were a habit of Winston's that Will had been trying to break him of, with little success, since the night he found the huge dog wandering loose on the high road. He sat up slowly and ran his hand over Winston's coarse brown and black-spotted fur.

"Shh. You're hurting my head." he whispered, wincing. The dog stopped whining, and its mouth hung open, pink tongue lolling as he stared lovingly at his master. Will sighed and shook his head, using the dog's sturdy frame to help him to his feet. Standing at nearly four-and-a-half feet tall when on all fours, Winston was one of the largest mastiffs that Will had ever seen. His colouring was incredibly unusual too; unlike the dark brown or black mastiffs that were raised at the castle, Winston was a light caramel brown with strange dark patches. He was a gorgeous animal and Will's closest companion.

After patting the stable dust from his fawn-coloured leather pants, man and dog walked slowly past the empty stalls to the small castle entrance used by the stable master and climbed the stairs to the apartment Will shared with the head of the castle guard. The rooms were sparsely furnished, the walls barren except for the family crest on an old, moth-eaten tapestry that hung over the small breakfast table. He shuffled through the empty front room to his tiny bedroom at the back, barely bigger than the cot that was shoved against the wall. Just as he was finally laying his head down on the pillow, he heard the door open and the heavy footfalls of his stepfather enter the room beyond.  
"Will?" The gruff voice was heavy with irritation. The old soldier's fuse was shorter than ever these days; despite Will having no control over his strange malady, he was constantly admonished for shirking his duties.

"I'm here, Jack." he said, trying to raise his voice. Winston lifted his head from his great paws and turned his gaze towards the door just as the portly man crossed the threshold. Seeing Will lying on his bed, sickly pale and swallowing against his rising nausea, Jack let out an exasperated sigh. His dark brows came down over his eyes and he crossed his arms over his chest.

"You went out when you were supposed to be resting, didn't you? Goddammit Will, you're no good to me when you're like this." he said angrily. Will pressed his knuckles against his closed eyes, making strange red and white shapes dance in his vision.

"I thought the sea air would help. It _used_ to help. I'm sorry, Jack. I'll be all right for tomorrow." he said softly, without an ounce of conviction. With a headache this bad, there was little sleep in store for Will. Without sleeping powders he would toss and turn, drenched in sweat and trapped in nightmares until morning. He wished that he'd had thought to go to the old man who mixed medicines for the castle. There was no way he could send his stepfather on his behalf.

The old soldier stared hard at Will a moment longer.  
"What you do _saves lives_, Will. Don't you ever forget that. I need you to be able to do this." Jack's deep voice rasped out of his chest. He frowned when the younger man made no move to answer; spinning on his heel, the captain of the guard left Will alone to suffer in misery.

OOO

_Will stood on the deck of a ship. The wood beneath his soles felt smooth from years of constantly being polished under leather-like bare feet. He looked up. It was night. The moon was almost full above his head and the stars were a shimmering net across the sky. Will could hear creaking and the soft splashing of water against the hull. He smiled to himself and stroked his hand over the beautiful wood railing in front of him. Feeling something sticky, Will raised his hand to his face. His palm was marked with something dark. Something that spiked the cool nighttime air with a metallic tang. Will recoiled in horror and took a step back as a pale hand came up over the railing. The face that emerged out of the gloom was misshapen… the eyes were milky and the jaw hung open unnaturally. Will took another step back. He recognized the decaying figure as the man he had most recently interrogated; a dockworker accused of rape and murder. The dead man hissed at him as it climbed up onto the deck. Will tripped on something behind him and landed with a hard thump on the wet wood. Looking down, he realized he was sitting in a large puddle of blood. The shambling figure came closer as Will crawled backwards into the pool of cold, viscous liquid. The deck felt like it was at an angle. His terror and nausea came to a head when he realized that the blood was pouring thickly over the side and the ship was being dragged down into a stinking sea of red._

Will woke up and gasped; his breath caught in his throat and he began to cough loudly, pawing at the phantoms that still lurked in his vision. Winston was nudging at his arm, whining softly, as Will tried to clear the bloody images out of his brain. He sat up slowly, his head still screaming in agony. Will was soaked through; the old linen shirt and shorts he wore to sleep were sodden with sweat. He grimaced, teeth clenched, as a shiver took him. Will was beginning to fear that something was horribly wrong with him. Another shudder shook his slight frame, and he nearly gagged with another coughing fit that overtook him. When it finally seemed that the worst had passed, Will struggled to pull the wet shirt over his head and then threw it in the corner of the room. He lay down and dragged the worn quilt up over his shoulder with a trembling hand.

Winston kept his chin on the edge of the bed, watching with liquid dark eyes as Will struggled through layers of fevered consciousness, trying desperately to reclaim sleep.

OOO

Morning came too early. The gulls that flew in circles over the harbour all day were screaming to each other; though there was no window in Will's tiny cell-like room, he could hear them as loudly as if they were right above his head. He groaned and turned onto his back. The sleep that had finally descended on him had been fitful at best; Will was sore in both mind and body as he lay in the murky gloom, trying to find the motivation to get out of bed. Thankfully it seemed that the worst of the headache was over; maybe his words yesterday hadn't made a liar out of him. Will thought that, maybe after some strong coffee, he would be able to make his way to the dungeons. He slowly sat up and reached out to pat Winston's bony head, sighing.

Another long day in the dark dungeons, interrogating prisoners for all sorts of terrible crimes.

OOO

Will had been very young when his beautiful mother had been claimed by the weeping plague. His father had died in a fall when he was still nothing but a squalling pink thing at his mother's breast and as such had no memories of the man that everyone said he resembled. However, he remembered clearly how his mother had smelled of the mint-and-rosewater she bathed in, and that her dark brown hair, the same colour as his own, had been very long and so very soft, tickling his cheeks as they sat in the summer gardens singing childish songs together. She had been his whole world; even when she was courted and had eventually married the gruff, heavy-set captain of the guards, she had spent all of her spare time with the strange, small, dark-haired boy. The other castle children shunned him for reasons Will never comprehended, and his new stepfather understood nothing of sensitive souls; so, when she fell ill and quickly passed, Will was left completely on his own. Out of loneliness, he had taken to standing silently in the corners of rooms, just to watch people interact. A soft-fingered touch on an arm, a brow wrinkled in confusion; nothing escaped his eyes.

One time, the frail, pale-skinned boy had been locked in a room overnight because no one had seen him lurking in the shadows. Will remembered how he had cried but kept himself from banging on the door for fear that Jack would think it was all his fault. The room soon grew pitch black as night fell, and Will, utterly terrified, had felt his way across the tiled floor in search of some sort of shelter in the big, echoing space. In the end he had curled up like a puppy on a hard horse-hair chair, his thin arms wrapped around himself to ward off the cold, the only small comfort he had. Quietly sobbing to himself, Will played his "persons" game to try to lull him to sleep. It was a simple game; it consisted of running through scenarios in his mind and predicting all possible outcomes based on which people he placed in them. Over the years the game had taken on a life of its own inside Will's clever brain. It became a powerful empathy, giving Will a seemingly magical ability to both predict and recreate the behaviour of others; to Will it began feeling more and more like visions rather than simply imagination.

Nearly five years ago, after it became evident that he didn't have the temperament to follow in his stepfather's footsteps, Jack had secured him a spot with the executioners' guild. The head of the guild had already heard of his strange talent; when the Will arrived in the dungeons that first day, the man had him sit and interrogate each of the thirty-two prisoners they had locked up that week. It had been a gruelling exercise to stare into the hollow eyes of prisoners already broken by torture and pick out those who were guilty from those who were simply unlucky. In the end, the head executioner had agreed with his analyses and had let a few souls free. Though while Will's almost uncanny ability to take the perspective of others served him well as an interrogator, slowly he began to feel like he was losing little parts of himself to the horrific task.

Then, the nightmares started.

Will poured a small amount of clean water from the chipped ewer to the mismatched basin and proceeded to splash the cold liquid on his face. He could hear his stepfather in the next room rummaging around; Will waited until Jack had departed before making his way through the common space they shared. Winston, a veritable stomach on legs, bumped his elbow with his nose. There would be coffee, bread, and cheese waiting for Will in the castle kitchen, as well as offal and scraps for the dog; if he was lucky, he might even be able to beg an apple from the cook.

Feeling surprisingly good, Will took the steps down two at a time. Maybe if he finished his tasks early enough he'd be able to steal away and take a closer look at that sleek warship, allowing himself to daydream for just a little while about leaving all this dreariness behind.

OOO

As Will walked down the steep, narrow steps to the dungeons, one hand sliding uncomfortably along the damp stone wall, he was dismayed to hear Jack's voice rising up through the dank air from the large open room below. He sighed and straightened his shoulders, swallowing down the last of the warm, nutty-tasting bread. This didn't bode well for him. Jack usually shunned the dungeons, though they, and the executioner's guild in general, were part of his jurisdiction. Will thought that perhaps his stoic stepfather was a tiny bit afraid of the men who worked so far underground; he smiled to himself despite the apprehension he felt. When Will rounded the last bend, he was greeted with the sight of Jack's broad back, dark hands clasped behind him, as the old soldier spoke brusquely to the fat torturer everyone just called "Flayer". Will stepped forward lightly and cleared his throat, gaze darting to the side to avoid accidental eye-contact.  
"Jack?" he said quietly. The head of the castle guard turned towards him, a broad, gap-toothed smile on his round face.  
"Son." he said. _Son? What the hell?_ "I need you to follow me. I've told uh… Flayer to advise the rest of your colleagues that you'll be working up top with me for the rest of the week." _Interesting._ It wasn't often that Jack called in a favour. It seemed to him that the old soldier was stuck in a bind that only Will's expertise and talent could get him out of. Jack patted Will on the shoulder somewhat awkwardly before turning to the spiralling staircase. He looked back at Will, his expression fading quickly from fatherly to annoyed as he waited for his stepson to follow him. Will sighed.

OOO

The sun was blinding him again. He held a hand up over his eyes and frowned at Jack's words.  
"You want me to what?" he asked, surprised.  
"I want you to visit the Rose Garden and observe." the older man said gruffly and fidgeted with the cuff of his shirt, looking somewhere over Will's left shoulder.  
"You want me to go to a brothel and observe? What am I observing, Jack?" Will's voice came out a little louder than he had aimed for. The old soldier glanced at his stepson, a scowl on his face.  
"There's always the odd murder of a working girl in that neighbourhood. Usually they're badly bruised, cut up, and dumped in the river. However, this morning they found one with just her heart missing. She was… displayed in one of the rooms. I have a bad feeling about this. I want you to… get a sense of the customers. Take a look around. I want to nip this in the bud. Do you understand?" Jack growled his words. Will hitched his shoulders slightly. Brothels were crowded. There were naked women. He groaned inwardly.  
"Why can't you do this yourself?" he asked and looked down at his clenched fists.  
"Because I am asking _you_ to do it." The older man flared his nostrils and looked piercingly at Will as if daring him to refuse. "Now get over there. Use your magic. Do whatever you do… but find _something_. I'm counting on you." With that, Jack frowned then nodded once at Will, dismissing him before he turned to leave. Will watched him walk heavily away with dismay, a slow burning pit of anxiety already churning in his stomach.  
"How long do I stay?" he yelled out to the back of Jack's head, but the wind grabbed his words and whipped them away. He stood there awkwardly for a few moments longer, pulling his grey jacket close around him before making his way down the narrow road to town.

Will stood looking up at the painted wooden sign for nearly ten minutes. It featured a crudely drawn naked woman on all fours with a rose growing out of her rear. _Charming._ He could see that the sign had been repainted a few times; the brothel was one of the oldest in the small town of Portsmouth. Steeling himself as he rehearsed the prepared words under his breath (_Hello, my name is Will. I am here on behalf of the City Guard. I have come about a murder._) he took a step up onto the dilapidated porch just as the front door burst open with a loud bang; a giggling, half-naked woman ran out and crashed into Will, knocking him into one of the beams that held up the second-floor balcony. She paused, round-eyed, and gasped.  
"Oh I am sorry!" she said, her voice high and girlish. It seemed like she would reach out to help steady Will when a bearlike man wearing only a pair of stained shorts ran out the door and quickly smacked the girl loudly on her behind. She squealed in surprise and laughed; running away swiftly on nimble feet, she went back in through the front door with the staggering, hairy man following close behind. Will was left alone on the porch again in a daze, a tiny pulse of pain starting right behind his eyes. _Great._

Will took another deep breath of air redolent of fish, rotting vegetables, and salt and stepped through the threshold to the world of debauchery and vice beyond.


	2. Chapter 2: The Rose Garden

The first thing Will noticed was just how warm it was in the brothel. The air was moist; it was like a hot, perfumed breath. Feeling slightly ill from the sudden change in temperature, Will began sweating under his layers. He looked up and blinked in alarm at the dimly lit scene before him; it seemed everywhere he rested his eyes, breasts peeped back at him. Women of all ages, and in various states of undress, leaned suggestively against walls, reclined in plush chairs or sat on the knees of pawing patrons. From the room to his left, he could hear laughter punctuated by soft moans of pleasure. Will ducked his head and coughed into a fist, unsure of how he'd be able to put one foot in front of another; he felt frozen in place by red-faced embarrassment. He hitched his shoulders and risked another look around; the decor was frilly and tawdry and _oh god what is he doing to her to make her make those sounds?_ He was on the verge of panic and was about to retreat back out to the porch when a pair of large breasts, bound tightly in a red satin bodice, appeared before him; a gentle hand grasped his arm.  
"First time, son?" said a voice roughened by age and vice. He pulled his eyes away from the long line of the woman's cleavage and looked up into the heavily painted face of the brothel's madam. She was looking at him kindly, a motherly smile on her rouged mouth; the woman was so close that he could see where the stain was escaping the contours of her lips, little streaks of red in the fjords of her wrinkles. He licked his own lips nervously and nodded.  
"Yes. Wait… No. I'm not here for that. I'm here about murdering a girl." he spluttered, aghast at the words that were coming out of his mouth. The madam frowned at him, her hand dropping to her side. "No! Not that… Sorry. What I meant was… I'm here about the murder. This morning. Of a girl." he sighed, shrugging his shoulders awkwardly and running a hand through his hair. The madam smiled a little sadly.  
"You're Jack's boy, aren't you?" she asked softly. Will's brows came down over his storm-blue eyes.  
"He's my stepfather." he said, sounding more defensive than he liked. She reached out again and patted his shoulder.  
"Well, I thank you for coming. Your name is Will, isn't it? You can call me Madam Bellarta." she said kindly. He smiled crookedly and stared at the tiny mole on the skin of her cheek.  
"I would like to see where she was… found." he said, his voice sounding strangely high to his ears. "Was she found here?"  
Madam Bellarta frowned slightly but nodded. "You want to see the room? Why?" she asked.  
Will lifted a shoulder in a tiny shrug. "To get a sense of what the killer saw. Or his intentions. I'm not sure. It just seems right to go there first. I'm sorry… I don't do this very often. I'm used to interrogating the living, not the dead, but Jack finds my insight useful. Is that a problem?" he asked, making eye contact for the first time. Will was instantly transported back to a time when the lipstick she wore had no wrinkles to invade, when her hair was dark without dyes, when her limbs were lithe, before the loose-skinned heaviness of age and misuse; her cat-like eyes, sparkling like emeralds, held his for a moment. He smiled softly at her, and she shook her head.  
"Not at all, dear Will. Follow me." she said and led him towards the wide staircase. Will kept his head down, watching his boots and avoiding the curious eyes around him. He could feel the sweat dripping down his spine and wished he had taken off his jacket earlier. Now if he took it off, everyone would see how nervous he was. He trudged up the stairs behind the madam and tried to feel less conspicuous.

Madam Bellarta opened the door to a small bedroom at the back of the house. There was a young blond woman crouched over a basin of water near the foot of the bed, scrubbing at her crotch with a grey rag. Will's head swivelled away, and he closed his eyes, his jaw working convulsively as he swallowed back his unease, blood hot in his face. He could smell the scent of her sex in the air; the thought brought out a small reaction in the front of his pants. Will shifted uncomfortably and held his breath while he tried to clear his mind  
"Dee… can you please do that in another room?" asked Madam Bellarta quietly. Will heard shuffling sounds and felt the rush of air and warmth as someone passed him in the doorway. He waited a moment before opening his eyes. Looking around, Will saw the madam standing a few paces inside the garishly decorated bedroom; he let go of the breath he'd been holding and took the few steps to join her.  
"It's been cleaned." he said turning around slowly, frowning. Madam Bellarte nodded.  
"Of course! We need all the space we can get. I can't afford to have a room not in use." she said simply. Will nodded once and rubbed the bridge of his nose; the headache was unfurling like a dark flower of pain inside his head.  
"Who found her?" he asked after a moment. He couldn't help but notice the giant wooden phallus on the night table; Will averted his eyes and concentrated again on Madam Bellarta's mole.  
"One of the girls did… but she came to get me right away. I saw it all." said the older woman, face thoughtful. "You know, Sofia wasn't even supposed to be working last night. There was no reason for her to be here… the girls don't sleep in these rooms. They sleep in the dormitory in the back of the house. I just… don't understand it. Why was she here?" The madam looked around, gesturing to the room with a large-knuckled hand. Will walked forwards a few steps and turned around. He pointed to the bed.  
"She was found here?" he asked. When the madam nodded, he turned back and ran his eyes carefully over the chipped headboard and the coverlet.  
"There was a lot of blood? Jack said she was missing her heart. Was there anything else? Where is she now?" Will asked, his questions coming more easily and his tone becoming more businesslike. Gleaning information was what he did for a living, after all.  
"Yes… she was lying in a huge puddle of blood. There was so much… Those sheets will have to be dyed black to hide the stains." she replied. "And… she's where all the dead bodies wind up, love. She had no family or friends. She's probably already burned up." Will grimaced. He'd hoped to take a look at the body before it went to the crematorium.  
"What else can you tell me? Was her heart cut out with a knife? Like, were the cuts straight?" he asked, making slicing motions over the palm of his hand. The madam put a hand to her own breast, a subconscious gesture.  
"Yes. It looked very… clean? Like the way a butcher would cut. Yes, just like that! Like she was butchered." she exhaled hard and then, surprisingly, let out a small laugh. "Although I don't know why anyone would want _that_ girl's heart. It would be so hard and bitter." She walked to the side of the bed and smoothed the duvet with a wrinkled hand. Will frowned.  
"She wasn't liked?" he asked. Madam Bellarta laughed again and shook her head, her neck wattles swaying with the motion.  
"No. Not since I bought her nearly a year ago. She was a foreigner.. a mainlander. Never got along with any of the girls here. I had her beat, what… not two weeks ago, for being rude to a customer." she sighed. "A bad investment, though she did come cheap. But no one should ever have to die the way she did." Will's dark brows came together, a furrow creasing the skin above his nose. "You think she was still alive when her heart was cut out?" he asked.  
The older woman nodded slowly and twined her fingers together. "She was on her back, not a mark on her except for the big hole in her chest. Her eyes were so wide… it looked like she was seeing the devil himself. Her hands were gripping the blankets so hard." Madam Bellarta suddenly looked pale underneath the mask of rouge she wore. "We had to… break her fingers to get her off the bed." Will felt nauseous. His looked up and saw that there were brown-red dots on the ceiling. _Probably from the knife? The struggle?_ The older woman followed his gaze up and made a harsh sound in the back of her throat.  
"Now that's no good for a john to see while lying on his back, is it? One more thing to clean." she turned to Will, her hands clasped in front of her. "I'm not sure how much help I've been, but I really do have to get back downstairs." She pursed her lips and stared piercingly at Will. "Jack said you would probably stay a while, and that's fine with me, but don't go bothering the customers. I do have a business to run here." she said, smiling. Will nodded quickly. With the pain mounting in his head, he doubted how much longer he'd be able to stay. The older woman turned to leave but paused, hand on the doorknob. She turned back to Will and looked appraisingly at him.  
"For your troubles… can I offer you a girl for a half hour?" she asked. Will felt his heart skip a beat, and he swallowed hard. He moved his hands, subtly he hoped, over the crotch of his worn, brown pants.  
"No. No thank you. That won't be necessary." he answered stiffly.  
"How old are you, Will?" she asked, her green eyes scrutinizing him.  
"Twenty-two." he said and rubbed a hand through his dark curls. "Almost twenty-three."  
Madam Bellarta chuckled softly. "That's awfully old never to have dipped your wick before." she said, shaking her head. When she saw that her comment had frozen Will to the spot, his eyes staring hard at nothing and his jaw clenched tight, she pressed her lips together and nodded. After a moment, Madam Bellarta patted his arm kindly again. "Take your time, Will. I'll be downstairs if you need me." With a rustling of stiff chiffon and satin, the old madam exited the room, leaving the younger man standing alone with his burning thoughts.

OOO

Nearly an hour later, Will stood with his head against the tattered, striped wallpaper of the hallway. He had questioned a few more girls, all with the same result. No one liked Sofia. No one cared that she was gone. No one knew why she was here last night. His head was pounding in time to his heartbeat; it was time to give-up, damn what Jack would say. He pushed himself away from the wall, feeling slightly dizzy, and made his way to the staircase. From below he could hear the strange sibilant accent of the northern isles; it seemed that a new crop of clients had arrived. A few girls not already occupied pushed past Will on the stairs, and he had to clutch at the railing to keep his balance. Will's vision swam for a moment as he hung limply against the worn wood; at this rate he would be lucky if he made it back to his bed before collapsing. Shakily making his way down the stairs, Will looked around for the madam. He was about to step into the hallway when suddenly his eyes were captured by the sight of a man sitting in a high, winged-back chair across the room. The imposing stranger was wearing black leather pants and a crimson brocade vest over a white shirt undone to the navel. A half-naked girl leaned over him, whispering in his ear while stroking the thatch of hair on his broad, deeply-tanned chest. The man's booted feet were planted far apart as he reclined in the chair, staring intently at Will with eyes hooded by a stark brow. Will's heart thumped hard in his chest; he felt rooted to the spot by the man's brazen stare. The richly dressed stranger looked to be older than Will and was starkly handsome; he had high, razor-sharp cheekbones and a thin, well-shaped nose sitting above lips that curved like a gull's wings. His face seemed carved of sandalwood, all angles and stillness, as he held Will locked in his gaze. A sudden hand on Will's shoulder startled him and he turned, finally able to break eye contact with the intimidating stranger. Madam Bellarta stood next to him, a worried expression on her worn face as she peered into Will's eyes.  
"Are you all right, Will? You don't look very well." she asked. Will glanced back at the man in the chair but the spell had broken; a charming smile bowed his lips, transforming the calculating look into one of amusement. As Will watched, the man laughed throatily at something the girl said. His eyes, crinkling at the corners, looked at Will a moment longer before completely dismissing him. Will shook his head and swallowed hard.  
"I'm… I just need to lie down." he said weakly.  
"Come with me. You can use my bed. You poor boy, you're shaking like a leaf!" said the older woman, gripping Will by the arm. He looked over his shoulder as he was led away by Madam Bellarta, but the chair across the room was now empty.

OOO

Will lifted his head and blinked sleepily. The room was blessedly dark and smelled like flowers. Will felt groggy; it took a few panicked moments before he remembered where he was. _The brothel._ Will's head still throbbed, but he no longer felt sick to his stomach. _How long have I been sleeping?_ He sat up and rubbed his face, clearing away the remnants of a deep sleep unbroken by nightmares. Madam Bellarta had kindly mixed a tincture for him before he lay down; Will couldn't remember the last time he had slept so soundly. He stretched out his arms, and his shoulders groaned in protest; being so anxious all the time was quickly taking its toll on him. He smiled sadly to himself and ran a hand through his unruly hair; loneliness and isolation made for terrible mistresses.

Will could hear footsteps and muffled voices coming from outside the door, and he stood, grabbing his jacket from the foot of the bed. It was time to go; he would find Madam Bellarta and thank her before he left. Opening the door and stepping into the hallway, Will came face to face with a young man about his age. Naked to the waist, he had his muscular arms draped over the shoulders of a girl to each side of him. The stranger winked at the startled Will; he was boyishly handsome with smiling eyes the colour of the sea and a sly grin on his pink lips. Looking quickly down he saw in shock that the man was rolling the girl's nipple between his finger and thumb. Will swallowed and cleared his throat.  
"I'm sorry, I was… I'm going this way." he stammered and glanced back up. The young man's face had creased into a wide smile and he laughed merrily; Will frowned. Looking over Will's shoulder at someone behind him, the stranger nodded and said a few words in a strange language. Before Will had a chance to turn, something dark and suffocating came down over his head. Strong arms came around him, and Will felt his wrists seized in huge, rough hands. The man holding him seemed a giant; Will struggled against him, hoping to work himself free of the vice-like grip, but the bag over his head was robbing him of breath. His heart hammered against his ribs as he choked and panted into the material, dizzy with panic. A voice that could only belong to the grinning stranger spoke close to his ear  
"Aye mate, if ye stop wigglin' it'll go a lot easier." said the man, his accent marking him as a mainlander. "If ye don't, I'll have to knock ye about a bit. And lovey… we don't want that, do we?" Will sagged against the tree trunk that was holding him and nodded weakly. He was feeling lightheaded from the lack of oxygen.  
"Please… I can't breathe." he rasped. He heard the man in front of him chuckle and felt as the bag was adjusted at his neck. Cool air touched his lips and he took in a gulping breath. The giant behind him took a step; Will was being propelled forwards, his feet clumsy as he stepped awkwardly in the pitch dark.  
"Where are you taking me?" he asked, the bag muffling his voice.  
"Hush now, poppet. It ain't for me to answer questions." said the mainlander sounding a few steps ahead. Will heard him say something unintelligible, and the girls giggled; the sound of them faded in the distance as he was led around a corner and then down some hard steps. A door creaked, and Will felt chilled with the sudden wind; they were outside. Trying to quell his mounting panic, Will struggled to understand what was happening to him. Was he being led to his death? Why would anyone want to kidnap him? Their island was a poor one; there was no treasure, no wealth. It didn't make any sense. Their lord was constantly absent; Will had seen him only a handful of times in his life, even though he lived in the castle. Jack was the head of the guards, true… but that meant nothing in such an insignificant corner of the kingdom. _I'm the son of no one_ he thought miserably. After a few more steps he said "I don't have any money!" but there was no response. They were now going down a hill; he tripped and stumbled over rocks in his path, twice nearly twisting his ankle. He could taste the briny, wet smell of the sea at the back of his throat, even through the heavy material. Soon they stopped, and Will was lifted into what felt like a wooden boat. He was pushed down onto a hard seat and let go. His hands flew up to the hood over his head.  
"I wouldn't do that." said the mainlander, sounding very close; though his words were spoken in the same friendly tone he'd been using all along, there was the promise of violence in them. Will froze. He then hunched his shoulders in despair and dropped his hands to his lap. The other man laughed cheerfully. "Good choice! Now sit pretty, my dove." Will lurched forward as the boat was pushed off the rocky beach, and he clutched at the splintery bench beneath him. He could hear oars splashing; a gull cried out above them. Will suddenly felt like he would hyperventilate; it was too much. The motion of the boat was making him nauseous; sour spit pooled in his mouth, and he felt himself suffocating again. In terror, his hands took on a life of their own and grabbed desperately at the bag over his head, pulling it off. He sucked in the night air and coughed.  
"Now why would ye go and do that, lovey?" Will whipped his head around. He caught a glimpse of the curved hull of the black and red corvette before something cracked against his skull, flashing the world bright as lightning before Will felt nothing at all.


	3. Chapter 3: Caged

_When a sinister person means to be your enemy, they always start by trying to become your friend._  
—William Blake

OOO

It was dark. Will felt himself jostled, his head hanging down. Were his eyes open? There was a sickening pain in his left temple. A taste of blood. _Where am I? _Will tried to hold onto consciousness but slowly sank beneath black water.

[…]

It was still dark. There was something soft beneath Will's cheek… yes, he was lying on something soft. The pain in his head was making his stomach churn, and he felt as if he were swaying back and forth. Will could hear voices.  
"… hit him so hard in the head? I recall telling you that he is suffering from a brain ailment."  
"Aye ye did, but he wasn't mindin' me, Da."

Will listened to the two men speak, one with the rounded accent of the mainlands, the other with the strange shushing sounds of the islands to the far north. He lifted a hand to his head; his hand came away sticky with what could only be blood. The pain was immense, and the swaying feeling was a mounting tide of nausea; when he tried to turn his head the world spun in darkness. Suddenly his guts clenched, and he felt the vomit leave his mouth in a burning splash. Coughing weakly, he tried to sit up but felt hands on him, holding him in place.  
"Shit." said a voice above him. A wet cloth was roughly swiped across Will's face. He felt his lips being pried open, and he tried to shake his head. "Stop movin', silly duck. I'm goin' to get this into ye one way or'n other." Callused, dirty fingers breached his mouth and he gagged. A bitter liquid was poured over his tongue; Will choked, gasping for breath. He realized that he could see now; he had indeed had his eyes closed. The winking mainlander that had accosted him in the brothel hallway was leaning over Will with a look of exasperation on his youthful face. Will blinked, his vision fuzzy. The man holding him down curled his lip in annoyance and tilted the bottle of liquid to Will's mouth again. "Drink, ye bloody arse. I'm tryin' to help ye." Will frowned, but something told him that the words rang with truth; there would be time later to struggle. He opened his mouth and meekly drank down the rest of bitter potion.  
"There ye go, lovey. Ol' Tom will make it all right." _Aren't you the one who hit me?_ Will blinked sleepily; a warm, tingly feeling was spreading through his body. He felt a hand pat his chest. His eyes were closed again.

[…]

It was less dark this time. He squinted across the room at the pinpoint of brightness with its yellow halo; a candle on a table was casting a flickering light. Will's mouth was dry and sour, and his eyes felt gritty in their sockets. Reaching up to touch his temple, his fingers encountered something that felt like a bandage wrapped around his head. He turned onto his back on the narrow cot, steeling himself against the pain, but he was surprised; though his head still hurt, it was a numbed, distant throbbing. Will took a deep breath and sat up slowly, looking around at his surroundings.

It seemed that Will was in a sort of cage that was bolted to the wall. It was about three long paces to each side and was made of flat, wide bars in black metal. Looking up, Will saw that the bars bent over his head close enough that if he reached up when standing he could touch them. The only furnishings in the cage were the narrow cot he was sitting on, a closed chamber pot in the corner, and a small wooden barrel that served as a table; on it was a big metal cup, beads of perspiration trickling down its sides. Will reached out with a hand and took the cold cup in a shaky grip. Looking into it he saw only clear liquid; he sniffed but it didn't have a scent. Hoping that it was what it seemed, he carefully brought it up to his lips and took a small sip. _Water._ He was thirsty, but since he didn't know whether he'd get more, Will only took a few mouthfuls before setting it down again on the barrel. The cold water felt good in his mouth and on his lips, but a small fever-shiver took him. Will looked down at himself and saw that someone had stripped him of his pants, boots, vest, and jacket, leaving him only wearing his worn cotton shirt and the linen shorts he wore as underthings. Will slowly stood up and stepped forward to hold onto the bars; beyond his small prison he was amazed to see a large, richly decorated room. The walls were made of wood and were a shining, golden brown in the wavering light of the candle. The floor was covered in beautiful rugs, the likes of which he had never seen before; they were a riot of dark colours and forms, abstract repeating shapes and flowers twining together to make strange patterns that made Will's head hurt. In the middle of the room there was a heavy wooden table surrounded by chairs; they were all glossy and dark with gracefully curved legs, and the chair cushions were made of something dark red and velvety looking. Will's eyes rested curiously for a moment on the glass-doored shelves filled with more leather-bound books than he had ever seen; his gaze then swept the walls where heavy-framed paintings hung. He could see what looked like a large map covering most of the wall to the left of him; above it was a large crest, the black silhouette of a stag's head resting on a field of red. Suddenly the floor rocked under his feet, startling him, and understanding dawned. _I'm on a ship._ Memories of the sleek black and red corvette came flooding back to him.

Only when Will heard a small whispering sound, like paper sliding against something, did he realize he wasn't alone. Will narrowed his eyes against the candlelight and saw that the dark shape on the other side of the table was a large, low bed; on it, a figure was reclined, reading a book. Will's heart faltered at the unexpected sight and he tightened his grasp on the bars, unsure of what he should do. In numb panic he moved quietly to sit back down on the cot; it creaked under his weight, and he anxiously held his breath. The figure on the bed turned another page in the book. After a moment he heard a man's voice, flavoured with the softly sibilant accent of the north.

"Go back to sleep, Will. We have much to converse about in the morning."

Will sat still, his heart hammering in his chest. He heard another page turn across the room and pressed his lips in a hard line. There would be no answers tonight. Frowning, he rubbed his head, mindful of the bandage. He doubted he would be able to sleep, but something in that low voice compelled him to try. He lay back down, noticing for the first time that the covers on his small cot were made of bright, rich fabrics. He pulled the sheet over his slight frame and stared hard at the bars in the dim light. The man beyond couldn't be anyone but the captain of the ship, judging by the size of the room and the sumptuous decor. _What does he want with me?_ Surprisingly, Will soon felt his lids grow heavy despite the nervousness and confusion he felt; as he slipped softly between the folds of slumber, his last thoughts were on the dark-eyed man from the brothel.

OOO

_The forest was black and silver, the trees in it very narrow and tall. Will looked about him in confusion, unsure which way the path to home lay. There was the crackling, snapping sound of something moving towards him, and he turned around just as a large, black, antlered shape emerged out of the woods. It stared at him impassively with glossy dark eyes. From behind the great stag came a hot wind, ripe with the smell of carrion… _

Will was hot, and it was very bright on his eyelids. Closing his eyes tighter, he buried his head against pillow; Jack would be up by now. He reached out a hand to touch Winston's head, never far from his bedside; when his fingers encountered nothing, he frowned to himself. The cot suddenly rocked under him, and there was a small splashing sound from beyond the wall; Will's eyes snapped open. _The ship._ He lifted his head and narrowed his gaze against the sunlight pouring through the round window above him.

"Well, lookee! The sleepin' princess awakens at long last!" said someone in the room. He recognized the voice as belonging to the aggressively cheerful youth that had knocked him unconscious the night before; Will clenched his jaw and turned to look at him. The muscular young man, stripped to the waist and barefoot, was lounging indolently in one of the dark, wooden chairs, noisily eating a wedge of apple off the end of a sharp knife. When he saw Will looking at him, he curled his pink lips into a smile.  
"Yer a noisy sleeper aint'cha, lovey?" he said, carving another slice out of the red-cheeked fruit he held in his rough-knuckled hand. Will frowned at him and pulled himself into a sitting position; his shoulders came up as he sat hunched on the bed, staring at the stranger for a few moments.  
"Where are my clothes?" he asked softly, his voice hoarse with sleep. The shirtless man laughed. "We burned 'em, mate. They couldn't be saved!" he said cheerfully and munched on his apple. "Ye know I was up half the night cleanin' the sick off ye? Bloody awful business." Will swallowed and opened his mouth to say something. _But why should I apologize?_

"Will, you should learn right now to take a grain of salt with anything Tom says." said another voice. Will turned his head as someone entered the room. His breath caught in his throat as the man who had so brazenly stared at him from across the brothel sitting room walked through the open doorway. He was still wearing the dark crimson vest over a white shirt, but both were buttoned up and covered with a long black coat with bell cuffs and brass buttons. His light brown hair was tied back out of his face; when the man turned to look at Tom, Will saw that his ponytail was held in place with a black velvet ribbon.  
"That's unkind, Da." said the shirtless man at the table, smiling up with sea-green eyes at the imposing stranger. The older man's lips made a little moue of disgust as he shook his head. Turning back to Will, the older man dipped his head a fraction of an inch and smiled charmingly.  
"I am Captain Hannibal. This absurdly brash young man is Tom, my first mate." he said in his exotic accent. Will realized his mouth was still open; he closed it quickly and felt blood heat up his cheeks. Hannibal's brow lifted and he scrutinized Will for a moment with dark brown eyes. When Will didn't respond, he finished the introductions for him. "And you are Will of Portsmouth. It is a pleasure to meet you, Will." The older man's eyes crinkled at the corners, and he sketched a shallow bow with a large, tanned hand held to his chest. The man breathed elegance into the room with his words and manner, and Will found himself sitting up a little straighter on the cot. "We did not burn your clothes; ignore Tom. However, you might be more comfortable in something less… shabby."

The corners of Will's mouth turned down, his sudden shame swiftly followed by anger. He averted his gaze. "I like my clothes just fine. I thank you to return them to me. And to release me." his words were spoken through clenched teeth. Will looked down to where his hands were clutching the bed sheet tightly; his heart was beating fast and the blood sang in his ears. In dismay, he realized that there was a pounding in his head that was quickly gaining momentum; he swallowed hard, fearing the pain he knew would soon overpower him.

"You heard our friend, Tom. Please fetch his clothing. It is my desire for Will to feel comfortable during his stay with us. Whatever he asks for, you shall provide. Do you understand?" said Hannibal. There was a long pause. Will looked back up and was alarmed to see that Tom was staring at him intently with a new emotion in his blue-green eyes. _Jealousy._

"Includin' lettin' the puppy out of his cage?" the muscular first mate asked as he stood, rubbing the side of his callused thumb on the stubble of his jaw.

Hannibal shook his head slowly. "No, I'm afraid our guest will have to stay in his cage for now." he responded, sitting down on the chair that Tom had vacated. Leaning forward, he placed his forearms on his knees, hands clasped loosely in front of him. Hannibal peered curiously at his prisoner and smiled. Will's eyes followed Tom's departure.

"Welcome to my ship, Will. I was being genuine when I said that I would like you to be comfortable; please know that." the captain said, his tone both friendly and apologetic.

Will turned his eyes to Hannibal's and was surprised by the warmth he found there. Despite the outrageous situation, he nodded once. "Why am I here?" he asked quietly.

Hannibal sat back in his chair and rubbed a hand on the black leather covering his knee, pondering the question. Will's temple throbbed in time to his heart, adding to the mounting discomfort in his head. He reached out unsteadily and grabbed the metal cup, the water in it now tepid. He took a small sip and tried to ignore the pain that shadowed his every move.

"I learned of your unique talent and had to see it for myself." said Hannibal finally. "I like interesting things; and you, Will, are interesting to me."

Will frowned and coughed into his fist; his skin prickled with another fever-shiver. He drank down the rest of the water and started turning the cup around in his hands, a nervous motion.

"I'm to be kept in a cage? Like an animal on display? Are you going to make me perform?" asked Will, his voice sounding harsh. The handsome face of the captain creased into a wide grin and he laughed, his eyes twinkling with merriment.

"No no no! You misunderstand. You're not to be a pet, Will." Hannibal stood and walked to a strange metal cupboard. Opening it, he took out a pitcher; motioning to Will to hold his cup through the bars, he poured water from it. Will was amazed to feel that the water was so cold; the cup started sweating immediately in the heat that had settled in the captain's quarters.

"How… is this so cold?" Will asked, taking a small sip. Hannibal smiled and went to replace the pitcher. "Ice." he said simply, pointing to the large block of it at the top of the cabinet. The captain's face became serious as he closed the door and turned back to the man in the cage. "I can show you many more interesting things, Will, if you decide to join us."

Will laughed, though there was no humour in it. "So if I'm not to be a pet, what will I be? Are you offering me employment? If so… why all this? Why not just _ask me_?" he asked. His teeth were starting to chatter, and his words sounded strange to his ears.

"Because you are the son of an honourable man, a law man, Will. My ship and its crew… we kneel to no man, no laws. I couldn't be sure where your loyalties lay." said Hannibal, one shoulder coming up in a small, graceful shrug. Will shivered; the pain and fever were starting to take over. He closed his eyes and licked his lips with a suddenly dry tongue. "And what if I say no?" he asked quietly, lifting his gaze to the man who stood above him. It could have been a trick of the eye, but the captain's face seemed momentarily to go blank of expression. It was as if something completely inhuman was looking at him through the older man's dark stare. Will felt a strange numbness in his body, and his vision seemed to pitch forward. He felt simultaneously hot and cold. All motion suddenly slowed. Before the world went black, his eyes saw a dark hand reach for him. Then there was nothing.

OOO

Hannibal knelt next to Will's twitching body, a deep frown on his face. He smelled burnt tobacco and realized that Tom was back in the room. The handsome boy walked on cat's feet; without Hannibal's keen sense of smell, he would have had a hard time tracking his motions, and the lad was as dangerous as he was beautiful.  
"What's the matter with him, Da?" Tom asked, leaning against the bars of the cage, Will's clothing tucked under one muscular arm. Hannibal touched the stricken man's face; it was burning. He shook his head at the provincial nature of these small towns; without proper medical care, Will would not have lasted the month.  
"He has a brain infection. Your manhandling of him did not help matters, Tom." Hannibal looked over at his first mate, his face bland. Tom was chewing on the side of his thumb; he shrugged at Hannibal. The boy was invariably unapologetic when it came to his violence.  
"So he's broken, eh? Are ye goin' to fix him? What do we want with this broken puppy anyway. He's got hands like a girl." said the younger man curling his lip in amusement. "Maybe I'll get him to use his girl hands on m—"  
"You'll do no such thing, Tom. Obey me in this." Hannibal's voice hissed quietly. The younger man's sea-green eyes widened, his pupils dilating, and he swallowed. "Aye aye, captain sir." he said, his tone only slightly mocking. Hannibal nodded once and turned his attention back to the man lying on the floor of the cage. Will had stopped twitching, but his breath was uneven and a sheen of sweat covered his sickly pale face. Broken puppy, indeed. Hannibal sighed; he could fix him, but what if Will refused to join his crew? What point would there be to cure him of his ailment, only to kill him for turning down his generous offer? With a thoughtful expression on his rugged face, Hannibal slid his strong arms underneath Will's limp body and lifted him back onto the cot; he would simply wait for Will's answer before mixing the medicines that would save the boy's life.

He picked the cup off the floor and placed it back on the small rum barrel before exiting the cage and locking the door. Looking at Tom sternly, he pointed to Will. "You're to be the guard dog for this 'puppy', Tom. I will be up on deck. If there is any change, you must come to me immediately." he looked back at the stricken man on the narrow cot and frowned. Picking a shiny red apple out of the bowl on the table, Hannibal reached through the bars of Will's cage to place it next to the empty cup. What was it about this boy that seemed to call to something long-buried inside of him? He shook his head slightly. Narrowing his dark eyes at the first mate again, Hannibal then turned and left the heavy heat of the stateroom for the crisp, blue world of sunshine above deck.

**These are the first three chapters of the new fic I'm working on. Unfortunately the rest falls outside of FF's guidelines (NC-17 for graphic sexual content) - however, if you want to continue reading, the current work in progress (so far over 65000 words to reach a conclusion at about 100k) is posted at AO3 under my user: eatthebunny. You can follow the link in my user profile here.**


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